


here's to the fools

by MissSpock



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Actor victor, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Barista Yuuri, Coffee Shops, Coffeeshop AU, Day 1, M/M, Makeup Artist Phichit, Meh, VictUuri, Victuri, Victuuri Week, Vikturi, but i mean, everyone has a dream, i still don't know how to tag these two nerds, it's ur typical coffeeshop au tbh, mostly mentions of other characters tbh, probably one is enough, prompt: other sports/careers, t for language, that's literally it - Freeform, victor has it really bad, viktuuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 15:17:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9613457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSpock/pseuds/MissSpock
Summary: “H-Hello. How may I help you today?”The Victor Nikiforov slid his sunglasses down his nose, and Yuuri was suddenly confronted with sparkling eyes so blue he could die. Maybe he did. Maybe he’s dead and his soul had ascended to heaven. He really couldn’t tell anymore.God, the Russian man was as devastatingly beautiful in real life as he was on film. Not fair. Not even remotely fair.(In which Victor is an actor with a 1000 watt smile and Yuuri is the cute barista of the cafe across the lot from the film company where he works.)(Day 1 of Victuuri Week, Prompt: Other Sports/Careers)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely inspired by La La Land, but it only uses a specific idea (i.e. Yuuri works at a cafe in the back lot of Victor's film company) so I'm not using it for crossover :D
> 
> i'm sorry if it's rushed toward the end, it's just REALLY LONG and I wanted to get it over with. Written in two days with no beta.

            It was a deceptively normal day.

            Yuuri went to work on time, managed to steer clear of every selfie Phichit took, didn’t spill anything on himself or piss off any important customers all morning.

            The lull came, as always, with the late afternoon. The lot was mostly empty by then, crews heading out to find prettier scenery to do their night scenes or going into the stages now that the natural light was no longer good to work with. Phichit put on music that they wouldn’t usually listen to with customers around, and they wiped everything down, singing off-key and dancing to the tune.

            It was an overall rather relaxing day, and Yuuri was starting to enjoy himself, humming and spinning as he stacked stools behind the counter, but then he turned around and choked on air, voice dying in his throat.

            Victor Nikiforov.

            He really should have known that the universe wouldn’t let him off so easily.

            _The_ Victor Nikiforov was standing in the store, baseball cap pulled low over his forehead, sunglasses sitting on his nose, traces of subtle makeup still evident on his face. He’d been standing there, for god knows how long, on _Yuuri’s_ shift, while Yuuri had been _dancing to bubblegum pop and singing off-key._

            He swallowed, hard. Behind him, there was the unmistakable click of a camera shutter.

            Yuuri was torn between panicking at his current train of thought or whining. In the end, the latter won out. He’d left his phone at home. He wanted a picture too, dammit.

            Phichit winked. “Go get ‘em,” he stage-whispered, skipping toward the back, presumably to tell Celestino exactly who was in their shop.

            Yuuri could physically feel the beads of sweat materializing on his forehead. He’d always known that _this_ was a possibility. They were in the back lot of the film studio Victor was signed on with, for god’s sake, and it was partly why Yuuri had decided to work at this café in the first place. The other reason was, of course, it paid a lot more. Movie stars were generous tippers and he had loans to pay off. It’s not like he was purposefully trying to stalk Victor or anything, it just…fit.

            His fingers twisted into his apron, blood draining out of his knuckles, and forced an unnatural smile onto his face as he stumbled to the counter.

            _Professional. Be professional. Forget that just happened. Be professional._

            “H-Hello. How may I help you today?”

            _The_ Victor Nikiforov slid his sunglasses down his nose, and Yuuri was suddenly confronted with sparkling eyes so blue he could die. Maybe he did. Maybe he’s dead and his soul had ascended to heaven. He really couldn’t tell anymore.

            God, the Russian man was as devastatingly beautiful in real life as he was on film. Not fair. Not even remotely fair.

            “Hmm.” Victor tapped his chin, drawing out the hum for longer than strictly necessary as his gaze wandered.  Yuuri tried frantically to remember whether or not he’d taken special care to tidy up the around his work station this morning, only for his brain to abruptly short circuit when the same, vaguely amused, conspiratorial blue-eyed gaze again settled on Yuuri’s face. “What would you recommend?”

            “Oh. U-um.” Yuuri cleared his throat and flushed bright red, squirming a little under the intense scrutiny. “Uh.  The…smoked butterscotch latte is pretty good.”

            “I’ll have that then. With lots of chocolate syrup, please!”

            “Uh.” Yuuri snapped himself out of staring. That was _dangerous_. If Yuuri had to stare anymore at Victor’s million-watt smile he might have actually gone blind. “Sure. Yeah. I’m on that.”

            Now he was turned around. Going to get the coffee. Facing a direction where he had no physical way of looking directly at Victor or making eye contact. Good. This was good.

            Phichit had somehow mysteriously floated back toward the front again by the time Yuuri had dumped a generous amount of chocolate syrup into the cup. He was leaned against the counter on his elbows, chin propped up by his hands. “Celestino says it’s on the house.”

            “Oh no,” Yuuri heard Victor say, as he put the cap on the cup. “I’ll get it.”

            “He insists,” Phichit grinned.

            Yuuri put the cup down on the counter, relieved that Phichit was back to rescue him.

            “Well,” Victor had pulled out his wallet from his back pocket already anyway, fishing out a handful of bills. “That doesn’t mean I can’t leave something in the tip jar, does it, _Yuuri_.” His voice fit beautifully around the vowels as he turned, eyes dancing with mischief, and Yuuri spluttered, turning red all again, forgetting in his flustered state that he was wearing a _name tag._ “Wha—How—“  

Victor seemed pleased with himself. “After all, it’s all I can do for such a _cute_ barista.”

            And then, for good measure, he _winked._

When Yuuri came to from his catatonic meltdown, Victor had already gone, and Phichit was tittering with laughter.

            “You should have seen your _face_ ,” The other man cackled, while Yuuri made high-pitched whining noises on the floor, glasses crooked across his nose.

            This was the position Celestino found them in when he came out a few minutes later, Phichit bent double and Yuuri in a heap, and the older man promptly decided enough was enough and they would finish early for the day.

            Phichit did eventually take pity on Yuuri. They did how they usually do: trudged dazedly back to their shared apartment in the crappy part of town, only stopping to pick up takeout on the way, and marathoned _The King and the Skater_ franchise all night.

 

*

            The next day would be deceptively normal as well.

            (Yuuri dropped the pitcher he was holding when the door opened sometime after noon and an exuberant voice, unmistakable to anyone who even knew what movies were, called out his name. Someone else came in after him, and Yuuri had to hold back another heart attack because _Jesus Christ that’s Yuri Plisetsky what the hell how many famous people are in his goddamn shop--_ )

            And the next.

            _(“Yuuri! You should put marshmallows in this too! It could be your new special!”)_

            And the next.

            _(“…Mr. Nikiforov, aren’t you supposed to be on set?”_

_“It’s just Victor, Yuuri! Besides, Yakov can wait fifteen minutes. I’m sure he’ll want coffee too.”_

_“Oi! Quit flirting and get me my damn hot chocolate already!”)_

“What,” Yuuri shoved the bolts of red and gold satin onto the floor and groaned into a pillow, lying face down on the couch. Though the apartment still had Victor Nikiforov’s posters plastered around the walls, it was much more safe, relatively speaking, than the real thing, surrounded with grounding sights like Phichit’s fabrics and glitter everywhere. “Is he trying to do?”

            Phichit had been holding pins in his mouth and painting his nails while some reality show about street fashion crackled on TV, and he had to spit it all out. “Well, he only comes in when you have a shift.”

            “You don’t know that.”

            “I asked Leo and Guanhong. Minami and Seung-gil too. None of them have even caught a glimpse of the guy so far. And he also leaves tips that are two hundred percent his actual order whenever you so much as talk _at_ him. Is it really that hard to figure it out?”

            “He…really likes how I make coffee? And has too much money to be throwing around?”

            Phichit prayed to the selfie gods to give him strength. “You’re ridiculous.”

            “What am I _supposed_ to think, then, Phichit?”

            “…Never mind about that. If he keeps coming, we should have no trouble about rent.” A pause. “Don’t you have an audition you’re supposed to be prepping for?”

            Yuuri groaned again.

            Phichit patted the heap on the couch sympathetically and dropped the script unceremoniously on Yuuri’s head.

 

*

            Eventually, they got used to the idea.

            Victor came, day after day after day, and he sometimes brought other people with him. Yuri Plisetsky, teen hip hop prodigy who’d recently broken off with Disney channel due to image problems, trailed after him the most frequently, hurling insults (mostly at Yuuri) but always wanting extra marshmallows in his hot chocolate. Then there was Christophe Giacometti, Swiss model-turned-actor, rumored to be the next James Bond, who had apparently found Phichit on Instagram and now spent all of his free time trying to get to Phichit’s super-secret eyeliner tricks and flirting with Yuuri (seriously, why did this keep happening to him? Yuuri was a good person. He didn’t deserve this.) Even Sara and Michele Crispino, Italian twins infamous for keeping to themselves, showed up one day, and Yuuri still took it as a personal compliment that they liked his macchiato well enough to buy another cup to go.

            Well, there was only so long someone could be star struck. Especially when Victor was so goddamn frustrating.

            About a month in, Yuuri had to admit that maybe this was the new normal. Victor became less of an unattainable star in the distance and…more of a pain in the ass. It’s true, he always tipped well, but he always found seat close toward the front, and then proceeded to talk to Yuuri ceaselessly about everything and anything, for the entirety of Yuuri’s shift.

            Once, Victor tried to bring up the subject of past lovers while Yuuri had been serving Lilia Baranovskaya, and Yuuri had choked, coughed, and then proceeded to spill sprinkles all over the counter.

            (“Phichit, I hate him _so damn much._ I’m going to kill him with his damn overly sugary coffee. _”)_

             No, Victor became something more human—something that drank coffee with an insane amount of sugar (the chocolate syrup was evidently not enough—Yuuri kept catching Victor dumping at least three other packets of sugar into his drink), had a never-ending supply of cute dog pictures, and a ceaseless amount of larger-than-life stories paired with an extreme lack of any inhibition.

            Yuuri didn’t mind though. It was charming, though occasionally exasperating, in a different way than the demure, classy Hollywood front he put up for the cameras. This Victor rambled more often than not, whined when he didn’t get Yuuri’s full attention, was occasionally very oblivious and forgot all the important things while remember the embarrassing little details word by word. This Victor was overly touchy, had no concept of personal space, but also backed off when Yuuri asked.

            It was the little things, really. The way Yuuri could block in the flaws he sees in Victor without being blinded by the halo of his stardom. The way to Yuuri, Victor was becoming just another person, someone to occasionally snark at and talk with.

It finally sank in when one day, Victor came in with bags at least three inches under his eyes, migrating into the center of his cheek, asking for three shots of espresso.

            Yuuri narrowed his eyes and kept a close look on Victor and sure enough, not two minutes after he left the counter he found Victor mixing red bull into the coffee. When Chris spiked his own orders, Phichit and Yuuri let him be. But red bull, with an already strong latte enforced with three shots of espresso was literally suicide.

            It was his duty to put a stop to it.

            “Victor.”

            Victor looked up at him with bleary eyes. “Yuuri?”

            He crossed his arms and tried to look intimidating. “I think you might die if you drink that stuff.”

            There was a soft smile curling in the corners of Victor’s mouth that could only be described as fond as he looked up.

            Yuuri maintained his sternness. The puppy-dog-eyes were not going to work on him.

            The look appeared to do its job, because after a moment, Victor sighed. “Fine.” A yawn. “It’s going to be a long shoot though, and Makkachin will just wake me up at dawn to walk him, the spoiled brat.”

            There was fondness here, too, shining through layers of exhaustion.

            Yuuri gulped. “Um.”

            “Hmm?”

            “I could walk him, if you want.”

            Victor lit up at the offer. “Really?”

            “I used to have a poodle.” Yuuri neglected to mention that said poodle had been named after Victor himself. “So I should be able to watch Makkachin for a little while, too, if you’d like.”

            “Yuuri,” Victor pressed a hand to his heart. “You’re literally saving my life.”

            “Anything I should watch out for?”

            “Makkachin really likes to steal food when no one’s looking.”

            “I’ll keep the scones out of the way then.”

            “Ah, Yuuri!”

            Yuuri turned, half-embarrassed. “Eh?”

            “Do you want my number?”

            Yuuri flushed, bright red, all over again. “W-What?”

            Victor was smiling that knowing smile of his that made it seem like he saw straight through Yuuri. “You know, for Makkachin.”

            He winked. Again.

            Yuuri slapped a hand over his face, but handed over his phone anyway.

*

            _“Chris, what do I do?”_

_“Right now, you need to breathe.”_

_“But he’s so pretty, Chris? And he loves dogs? And I just?”_

_“…And you need to sleep. Yakov’s going to have a fit tomorrow if you come in with dark under-circles again. Didn’t Yuuri say he’s going to walk Makkachin so you can get a good night’s sleep?”_

_“...you’re right. But I’m going to talk to you about how pretty he is in the morning.”_

_A resigned sigh. “Of course you will.”_

*

            “Ah! Victor!” Yuuri had gone out early to an audition when Victor wandered into the shop for his customary afternoon drink that day, and so it was just Phichit behind the counter looking at funny hamster videos, since once again business was lulling when their usual customers went to do their day’s work.

            “Phichit!”

            Phichit grinned. “The usual?”

            “Of course.” Then, only a beat later as if he couldn’t wait. “Where’s Yuuri?”

            Phichit’s grin only grew wider. “He went home early today. He has an audition in…” A quick thumbing at his phone revealed the time. “Ten minutes.”

            Victor didn’t look the least bit surprised, which was suspicious in and of itself. The smile that had graced his face and the fond, indulgent hum was even more suspicious. “What’s he auditioning for?”

             “I think it’s a…musical? Of some kind? He’d been practicing for a bit.” Phichit neglected to mention that Yuuri had been in a slump and only auditioned for this show because it had been one of Victor’s debut gigs. “He hasn’t been casted in anything for a while, but it’s been a dream of his since he was a kid.” Again, Phichit neglected to mention that Yuuri got into the industry because of that first musical Victor had been cast in all those years ago, when Yuuri was just twelve years old and Phichit even younger. “You’d think it was obvious, since, you know, he works _here_.” He gestured at their surroundings.

            Victor nodded, very, very seriously, tapping his lip with his index finger. “What’s he been in before?”

            “There were a couple of community plays when we were still in college. Then it was whatever we could find. He’s not giving up on film auditions though.”

            Victor hummed again, looking more thoughtful now.

            Phichit likely would’ve said something more, but behind them, the coffee machine spluttered and coughed, much like how Yuuri would have if he had been here to listen to Victor Nikiforov scrutinize his career. Phichit frowned and made a mental note to tell Celestino to get his damn machinery fixed, and headed back with an apologetic smile thrown Victor’s direction.

*

            It wasn’t until much later, when it was late, that Phichit tried to ask.

            “So, how did it go?”

            “I didn’t get it,” Yuuri flopped onto the bed, adjacent to Phichit’s, small and creaky, but nowhere as beat up as the rest of their apartment. His voice was subdued and his face already scrubbed clean of the makeup Phichit had put on him that morning. “And I feel like I can sleep for a week.”

            “You don’t _know_ you didn’t get it.”

            “I didn’t get it.” Yuuri repeated flatly, taking his glasses off and setting them on the bedside table.

            Phichit knew better than to push.

            There was a pause. Then Yuuri was the one asking. “How about you?”

            “We’ll see, I guess.” Phichit stuck his tongue out. “The costumes for that Shakespeare thing downtown’s done, so I’ll need the car tomorrow. And I’m doing makeup for that indie shoot next week.”

            “Oooh. Do you want to buy a fancy kit before then? We’ve got the funds right now.”

            Phichit turned to his side, wiggling his eyebrows. “Because of the two hundred percent tips you keep getting?”

            Yuuri flushed a dark red under the dim, yellow light of the bedside table lamp. “S-shut up. I told you, it has nothing to do with me. He probably just has no concept of money.”

            “…The guy asked you if you were single, gave you his number, and then asked you to babysit the most important poodle in the universe.”

            “…He was really stressed and needed time to himself?”

            Phichit shrugged. “Hey, whatever you want to tell yourself. As long as it’s not making you actually uncomfortable. If it is I can get Ciao Ciao to kick his ass?”

            “…It’s not,” Yuuri admitted.

            “I thought so.” The grin was visible even in the near darkness. Phichit did have unusually pearly whites after all. “What with your obsession with the man—“

            “Phichit!” Yuuri turned the light off and turned onto his other side, curled tight, presumably to hide the ever-deepening blush. “I’m going to sleep.”

            Giggles. “Night.”

            “Night.”

*

            Yuuri didn’t expect to wake up internet famous. He also, to a lesser extent, did not expect to wake up to Phichit yelling as he jumped onto Yuuri’s bed, waving both of their phones frantically at his face.

            “Look,” Phichit said, as if he could do anything else, really, with the phone in front of him, only a few inches away from his eyes. “Look!”

            Firstly, there was the text. That in and of itself was surprising enough. The director had casted him in the role he’d auditioned for, a whole two days earlier than they’d been expecting to post the cast list.

            The second thing was the shocker. It was…a video. Of his audition. That had gone viral. Somehow.

            He blinked.

            And then he shot out of bed, screaming.

*

            “Yuuri!”

            Yuuri cursed and tried, in vain, to duck under the counter.

            Phichit looked unimpressed, pulled him up by the back of his collar, and deposited him in front of Victor, who now had heart-shaped eyes as well as a heart-shaped smile.

            As soon as he was clear of the counter, he was tackled.

            “I didn’t know you liked _Stammi Vicino_ that much, Yuuri! It was beautiful—absolutely beautiful! I don’t know why they didn’t decide to hire you on the spot!”

            Too many exclamation points. Did this man know only how to speak in exclamation points?

            “I mean, I knew you could dance, but I never knew you could sing!”

            Wait. What?

            Yuuri’s eyes narrowed, the same time Phichit’s did. “What do you mean, you know I can dance?”

            Hurt flashed in Victor’s eyes for a brief moment. “Don’t you remember? We met on set six months ago.”

            “…”

            _“What?!”_

            The meltdown was smoothed over by chai tea, on the house.

            Ciao Ciao was good about stuff like this, even though Phichit was being merciless again, cackling in his corner with the iPad Victor had given him with all of the evidence.

            Yuuri’s face had basically taken refuge in his hands now, and he couldn’t even look at Victor, really. He could not believe that he had done…well, _that_.

            “So.” He finally began, with the air of a man facing execution.

            Victor nodded.

            “You mean, I got drunk on the champagne because I thought it wasn’t real.”

            More nodding.

            “And then I proceeded to strip, _on camera.”_

            The nodding continued.

            “And then I danced. On the pole. That Chris thought would be fun to add to the scene. Because I wanted to seduce you.”

            “That’s the gist of it,” Victor said, trying for a grin.

            “And the only reason the director cut this scene out of the movie was because I called you ‘Victor’ instead of the character’s name.”

            “…Yes?”

            “And for some reason...you were…”

           “Smitten,” Victor supplied, helpfully.

            Yuuri groaned and put his head in his hands all over again. “Why did you even talk to me after that? How could you even talk to me?”

            “I could ask you the opposite, but I guess you just…didn’t remember?”

            Yuuri groaned, again.

            “You were…different. You surprised me. You treated me like…like I was just anyone. Not Victor Nikiforov, living legend. Just another person.” Victor swallowed. “And I knew I had to see you again. To figure out if that was really you. I didn’t plan that far ahead,” Victor admitted. “I just…wanted to see you again? I didn’t know where things would go from there, or even had an idea. But I felt like I had to see you again. So I did.”

            Yuuri tried not to let the hope in voice show. “And?”

            Victor looked him in the eye, and smiled.

            _Oh_ , Yuuri thought.

            _Oh._

            “Phichit’s never going to let me live this down.”

            Victor laughed. “Let me make it up to you.’

            Yuuri decided, _what the hell._

            After all, he’d done the most embarrassing thing he could’ve possibly done in front of Victor already.

*

            “I don’t even like coffee,” Victor confessed, later that night, when they finally leave that restaurant that Yuuri picked. Yuuri had to pick, because otherwise, Victor would have dragged him somewhere too expensive to feel comfortable.

            “So all that time you were coming to the café…”

            “Just to see you,” Victor confirmed.

            “…You could have ordered hot chocolate instead, you know.”

            “…I didn’t want to seem childish?” It was Victor’s turn to be pink and embarrassed, hiding his face in his hands ever so often, clearly visible even under the streetlight. Los Angeles, city of light, glimmered beneath them.  “And to think—I kept wondering why you pretended not to know me, when all this time you didn’t even _remember._ God, I must have sounded like—such an asshole.”

            Yuuri, ever the selfless one out of the two of them, managed to push down his own embarrassment. “Mostly you just sounded like you.”

            “So, an asshole?”

            Yuuri swatted at him.

            Silence sat between them, not exactly uncomfortable.

            “Yuuri.  What do you want me to be to you?”

            “…huh?” When Yuuri looked up, Victor’s eyes gleamed gold, like the sea in the distance. They’d come to a stop, near a bench on the side of the road. In the morning, this would have been a bus stop perhaps, teeming with people. At nightfall, it was empty, and they were alone.

            “A friend?” A pause. “A brother?”

            “…No.”

            “A lover?”

            “Victor,” Yuuri said. “This isn’t a movie. You don’t have to be any of those. You can…just…be yourself.”

            A wry smile, sadder than the soft one. “I’m afraid I don’t quite know what to do without a script anymore.”

            “Well.” Yuuri bit his lip, as if looking for something, anything. Then, he settled on it, and he met Victor’s gaze with a smile. “Let’s start with…oh. You hate coffee.”

            Victor turned to regard Yuuri, surprise in his baby blues.

            “You absolutely, completely, despise coffee.” Yuuri grinned.

            “…But I like the barista.” The corners of Victor’s eyes crinkled, and _oh_.

            “But you like the barista.”

            “It’s a very important distinction,” Victor told Yuuri, pulling him closer, and his smile was unspeakably, suffocating soft again.

            “Very important,” Yuuri agreed breathlessly.

            Above them, the stars twinkled, and beneath them, the city lights. A breeze stirred gently through the streets.

            It always began with a deceptively normal day.

         

           

 

**Author's Note:**

> scream about yoi with me at erosie.tumblr.com?  
> also r and r if u can thnx ily guys


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